Open Wounds
by SmurfZXC714
Summary: "Why is it me?" she asked, looking at him with curious eyes. "It's always me." His eyes, as he answered, were unguarded. Something she was certain only she was lucky enough to see. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "There is no one else." CammieXZach ONESHOT


_Disclaimer: I do not own Cammie or Zach, or the fact that they are spies. _

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_**Open Wounds **  
_

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_You and me,  
We have our own world where I wanna be,  
Oh when I'm hurting you  
Then that world's hell and it's killing me  
I'm living with an open wound,  
Hoping that it closes soon.  
I don't wanna leave,  
But I should leave.__  
_

_- Sons Of Silvia _

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He watched her carefully from the opposite side of the room. She looked beautiful— she always did. She hadn't seen him, which surprised him. She was usually so observant. Everyone in the room was. But he supposed, when he wanted to, he blended into the wall. Always the pavement artist. He had noticed everything: the woman who was on the phone to someone she loved, the old man in the corner drinking too much for anyone's good, and the other man. The one who had been watching Cammie for the last twenty minutes. His eyes held appreciation for her, and Zach knew he was attracted to her. Zach couldn't blame him. She was stunningly beautiful, and no one had seemed to notice that until she hit her twenties. But Zach had seen it before, he had always seen her.

She was the exception was every rule he had ever made for himself. She was the one that came back, but she was also the one that got away. He never really had her. She knew him too well to ever let herself get close enough.

He got too close. Without ever realizing it, he'd let her in. She had somehow snuck over his high walls without him even noticing. He had opened up to her— something he swore he would never for anyone. He had seen too many things, he knew the world was a cruel place, and in the only person that was always there was yourself. Having people care about you was a futile task: like trying to rake leaves when all the leaves had yet to fall off the trees. In the end, there was only you, it did not matter about the relationships that were built. It simply just was.

She still didn't notice him as he weaved through the crowd of elegant dancers. She was staring into empty space and he knew her mind was somewhere else.

Somehow she had managed to break his rules without even knowing it. He let her in because it felt right. However, whenever he realized she was getting too close he pushed her away. He pushed her so far she often didn't come back for ages. But somehow, she always came back. Or maybe he always returned to her. It didn't matter. It was cycle.

"That guy cannot keep his eyes off of you," he whispered in her ear, knowing full well that she had not expected him. Even though he was certain he had surprised her she didn't even bat an eye. She was trained too well.

"Who would that be?" She asked without hesitation.

He almost laughed. She was spy— she noticed everything. Except for him apparently. She was only fooling herself if she wanted to pretend not to know what he was talking about.

"You know exactly who," he said, lifting his hands and trailing them down her sides.

"Apparently _you _can't keep your _hands_ to yourself," she replied, not attempting to remove his hands. She could say what she wanted but she would never forcefully remove his hands. When he touched her it was like electricity. It shot through her body like adrenaline— she would never be able to have enough. It was not something she couldn't control.

He laughed in her ear, it was deep and throaty, almost guttural. She wanted to flush with his closeness but she forced herself to remain calm.

"I never can," he said to her.

She sighed, suddenly tired with his antics. He played this game and would not stop until he won every time. Unfortunately, she had gotten tired of playing ages ago. She turned towards him.

"What are you doing here?"

She glanced around quickly. They were at a CIA benefit gala. Hardly his scene. He belonged in a strip club snorting cocaine.

His subtle smile made her heart do cartwheels. She would never admit the affect he had on her. It was too embarrassing. Because he had that effect on ever things that had a vagina.

"I have a feeling you know the answer to that," he said, running his hand down the curve of her spine. She wore a backless, strapless dress which left the smooth skin of her back exposed to anyone who cared to look. She did not know why she let him touch her like this. It was obviously to show that he had power over her. She was just like any other girl to him, she knew. She should stop it but she did nothing. She never did.

"Not this time," she said, but it was not in response to his answer, it was response to his thoughts. She did know why he was here. He always showed up at the worst possible times. He always showed up everything was going right, and he sent it into a downward facing spiral. He was poison, she knew, but it was a drug— an addiction she didn't know how to cure.

"You say that every time," he whispered to her. Bringing his face that much closer to hers.

"I mean it this time," she said putting her hands on his chest in attempt to get him to keep his distance.

"You say that every time too," he said and she could hear the smile in his voice. She let out a deep sigh. Once again; he was right. She didn't know why she ever resisted. It was pointless.

"Why is it me?" she asked, looking at him with curious eyes. "It's always me."

His eyes, as he answered, were unguarded. Something she was certain only she was lucky enough to see.

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "There is no one else."

She knew it was lie. There were plenty of _someone elses_. She knew what he did when he wasn't with her. She wasn't naïve enough to think otherwise.

"You always come back to me," she stated, but it sounded like a question.

He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I know." His smile seemed genuine. And he couldn't control it. She brought something out in him that he didn't even know was there.

Suddenly, he realized what was going on. It was happening again. She was sneaking her way into his heart. Something he used layers of amour and defenses to keep to himself.

"You know who this dress reminds me of?" he asked, changing the subject. His fingers dance around the silky red fabric that complimented her lean figure. She couldn't help but smile— she knew what he was thinking before he even had a chance to say it.

"I have an idea," she said, putting her arms around him, like they were about to start dancing.

He bent his head close to his ear and he told her his answer. "Tiffany St. James."

She could not say that she was surprised to know he remembered. She would be worried if he had forgotten. Spies were trained to remember things. Details such as the one he just mentioned.

"Well she doesn't know how to wear a strapless bra," she replied, her eyes dancing, her lips upturned into a secretive smile.

"You're not even wearing a bra," he said, his fingers traveling up her spine. Her skin was warm and smooth, just as he remembered it.

She laughed, a sound he wished he could cherish. But he had to remind himself that he was here for a reason. And it wasn't to win her over. Especially since he'd already done it.

He glanced over his shoulder, at the guy that had been admiring her all night.

"I think your boyfriend is jealous," he said to her.

"He had all night to approach me. He didn't take advantage of it. And now you're here and the poor guy doesn't stand a chance."

She couldn't define their relationship if she wanted to. It was so hot and cold, but somehow she always knew what to expect. He wanted to sleep with her, she was sure. And then they would have an amazing night together. But when she woke up the next morning he wouldn't be there. She would be left alone to pick up the pieces of her heart. She had done it so many times that it was almost routine. It didn't even hurt so much anymore, she had begun preparing herself for the pain.

"He doesn't look like your type anyway," he murmured to her, his lips brushing her temple.

She shrugged, and twirled his dark hair with her fingers.

"He's not," she replied.

She was in love with him, and she was fairly certain he knew it. She knew he did not love her back. He didn't love anyone. Besides maybe himself. However, she'd accepted the fact. Keeping people out, for some reason, made him happy. She knew he'd never love her back, and if that was what made him happy she had no reason not to comply. He adored her, she knew that much, otherwise he wouldn't keep coming back for more.

"What have you been up to?" She asked a while later.

"I'm not at liberty to say."

"Then let me guess," She suggested. "Some strip club in Las Vegas with a stripper on your lap and a line of cocaine all ready for you."

He laughed. She thought he was such dirt. He didn't hang out in strip clubs, not often anyway. He'd been on classified missions she didn't have clearance to hear about. She let him believe the worst him though; he never wanted to raise her expectations only to let her down. As much as he did it, he didn't like hurting her. He would happily stay away from her if he could control himself. Logically, he knew he should let her go, let her be happy with someone who could take care of her.

"You know me too well," he said to her.

She rolled her eyes. "Then I know you are lying to me," she whispered softly.

He wished she couldn't read him so well. She always knew when he was lying. He could trick lie detectors and blood pressure machines but he couldn't keep anything from her.

"Maybe you do know me too well," he returned.

"Are you ever going to let anyone in Zach?" she wondered.

"I let you in."

She laughed; she thought it was a joke. Apparently, she couldn't tell when he was being honest though.

"Zach," she sighed. "I have to go."

She gently began to push him away. She didn't want this anymore. She wanted something more than just repetitive one night stands.

"What are you—?"

He could see in her eyes. She wouldn't let it happened again. Maybe she was hurting more than she was letting on.

"It's like ripping off a band aid," she said to him. "And it's about time I ripped it off. I can't keep doing this. I'm. . ." she took a breath. "I'm done."

Her eyes were shinning back at him with dim hope. She wanted him to prove her wrong. She wanted him to show he did care about her. That she was more than just some girl. That was all she had ever wanted from him.

He let his hands fall beside him, feeling the loss of her skin beneath his fingers. The finality in her tone told him she was not kidding. She wanted out and he would have to be some sort of monster not to give her what she wanted. Not after everything he had done to her.

"I don't blame you," she said quietly as she took a tiny step back. "I don't think you even mean to. I guess you're just wired a little differently than the rest of us."

Zach had thought that his entire life but he'd never said anything to anyone about it. How was it she could pin point exactly what he felt when he couldn't even begin to identify the problem?

"Let me ask you one thing," she continued. "What do you want Zach?"

He tried to hard not to let her in, not to show her what he was really feeling. But it was getting tiring. He wanted to stop. It took much energy to push everyone away.

"I don't know," he replied.

It was the first time she heard him sound so unsure. He was Zach Goode, he knew everything, but apparently, not when it came to his own well-being. She wished he would just let her take care of him.

"I don't know why," he said then. "But somehow I always come back to you."

"I know," she said softly, wanting him to continue. To let her in, completely.

"What is it about you?" he wondered out loud, his hand stroking the side of her face. He beautiful blue eyes stared back at him. "I feel so lost without you," he murmured. Her heart begun to lift. He was opening up; she had finally climbed the walls he'd built around himself.

His eyes were searching hers, as if he thought she held all the answers to his un-asked questions.

"Then maybe you should stop leaving," she said quietly. Her hand traveled down and took his, squeezing it so he could know that she was there for him.

He smiled at her. She hadn't expected the strange kindness in his eyes. Her heart fluttered. Maybe he really was changing. Had he finally figured out that he didn't have to be alone?

He bent down, one hand on her hip, the other one still holding her hand. His lips touched her with a gentleness she'd never had with him before. It was refreshing from all the hard, fast, passionate kisses they shared. She couldn't help but smile as he pulled her closer to him. She swore her heart was beating inhumanly fast. This was all she had ever wanted. For him to want her the way she wanted him.

She released his hand so she could frame his face, wanting to touch him, to know that he was real. To know that this moment was real.

They broke apart, and she felt breathless. Her eyes were shining brightly with happiness and she felt like she could have been floating on a cloud.

"I love you," she whispered, her tone conveying absolute honest and dedication. She meant what she said. The words should have elated him, to know someone love him. But they didn't. Instead they caused a feeling of uneasiness to blossom in his chest. He didn't like it. He didn't like that she loved him. It made his past cynical views on love surface.

_She won't be here forever_, his own voice echoed in his mind. _In the end you will be alone. There's no point_.

They were words he'd thought to himself. He caught her wrists in his hands and started at her with unblinking eyes.

"I . . .can't," he started. "I can't. . . do this."

Her serene, happy face suddenly shattered. It morphed into mask of doubt and accusations. A frown replaced her smile. Her eyes narrowed.

"You can't do it can you?" she said, trying not to show how hurt she was. "You've done it for so long. You don't know _how _to let me in. Do you?"

It was strange to him how quickly she had shifted emotions. One moment she was glowing with happiness and now the anger and frustration leaked out of her in waves.

He didn't want to hear her words so he filed them to the back of his mind. Trying to forget them— lessen their meaning. He didn't want her words to cut him so he ignored them.

He knew she already had an answer from him. He didn't need to say anything. Actions spoke louder than words after all.

Her eyes were brimming with tears and he tried to ignore the stab of guilt and remorse in his stomach. He didn't want to care for enough for her words to hurt him.

"I don't want this," he spoke his thoughts out loud. "I don't. . ." It was as though he was trying to convince someone. Himself and her. He wasn't even sure if he believed his own words. "I don't want you."

The finality of the words rang in both their ears. Zach had a strong impulse to take back the words he said, tell her that he didn't mean them. But he squashed the feeling. He didn't want this. He couldn't want this.

"Please," she said, one stray tear running down her face. "Once, just let me in." She took a shaky breath. "What are you afraid of?"

He didn't need to answer her; he knew she wasn't really expecting him to say anything anyway. He turned away from there, fighting his way through crowds of dancers. He wouldn't look back, no matter how much his body ached to. Love was destructive. It caused nothing but problems. It wasn't something he wanted.

She watched him go, her eyes following him until her disappeared from her view. She didn't go after him. She knew he would not stop. She wasn't anything to him. No one was. No one ever would be.

Zach Goode was damaged. And no one— not even Cammie Morgan, could fix him.

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_Um... not really much to say...  
__Like all of my one shots It came out of no where...  
Review if you like it? _


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